


What wasn't said

by everyfandomoftherainbow



Category: Fargo - Fandom, Wrench and Numbers, Wrenchers - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyfandomoftherainbow/pseuds/everyfandomoftherainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU or alternate ending of what could have happened if Number's hadn't died, and instead sought revenge on Lorne Malvo with Wrench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What wasn't said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonison/gifts).



The bark was hard on his back. He was breathing slowly, growing ever so soft, slower even now. There were words. Words he wanted to say, words he wanted to grasp and feel. The things that would never be said nor told the long lost traitors. 

Revenge is one of the many things that can drive a killer. You can be a psychopath, kill for the blood, you can kill for sport, and you can kill for sadness and love. Revenge is a different level of insane. What was insane to the poor couple of hit men is a simple view of what others were never capable of understanding.   
The belief that in life held between their fingers was theirs to make their own choices with. That there are indeed, no rules. They lived by this law. This own conjured religion that did not include the romances of a god, but only the romances of sin. Not only was it their way, it was what made them whole. The scum and assholes of the earth were theirs to scrap off of their shoes.   
When they had encountered Lorne, things changed. Things changed because never had they met someone who abused the power of life and death in such a manner. The confusing metaphor of his life was a good enough reason to throw him away with the rest. They did not succeed. Yes, they walked away with their lives, but in killing the impossible human they were entirely unsuccessful.   
Time was to pass. That is what time does. What is, and always will be the greatest creation of mankind. Wrench and Numbers did not think of the past. They figured, after time and time again of crime, distance from the past is to understand the future. Wrench argued that Lorne was a lost cause. What reason did them to go after him? The dangerous demon would be left alone and killed eventually. He dare not step into a treacherous path that followed the man’s trail. Numbers was a man of revenge, however. Nothing stepped out of his line. The consequences of traveling after him would be his to face, Wrench or not. No one with such power should be left to the unlimited supremacy of human nature.   
It was, in this, that the two killers initiated the search for Malvo. Months turned full circle, and the snow fell on the day he was found. Clouds of it, clear white snow, turning the wind in spools. The forest was damp, the trees dusted with ice. Armed, alone, fear instilled within the pit of their stomachs. Two of the strongest and most intelligent men did not match what was the vast fortitude of the lone wolf known as Lorne. Driving foolishness through Number’s blood, a thirst for what they had been searching for, a need to make things correct with his partner again. Though romance was something the two often shared, Numbers would always feel responsible for the corridor of sickened revenge he had forced Wrench to follow. Devotion and loyalty would always be a part of Wrench’s longing disposition, a hope bright enough to blind him from where their preferences would lead them.   
The sun rise made the shadows of the trees taller, making their lies; grief and anger dwell within the desire to slay Malvo.   
The small’s twigs cracked and popped underneath their feet, breaking in twos, snapping. The forest was quite, Numbers was crouching behind a tree, the large pine branches covering his figure from Lorne’s eyes. They had found him. It took time, yes. It took hard time and easy time. They had done it, though. His white hair blending with the snow, his eyes grey and dead like the vessel he possessed. Lorne could not see them, but Numbers and Wrench had spotted him. The lightest of snow fell on the ground. Their boots buried inside the snow, guns pointed to his direction. It was still. Frame of the scene with snow passing by, like a drifter, who had come to steal their minds.   
Was it a dull move? There would be no time to decide. Numbers was too angry, cursed by his past, which he had vowed to never let haunt him. The snow caked around his boot as he pushed it forward, firing precisely at Lorne’s position. Malvo fell, scooting and scrambling behind a larger tree to defend his very life. The sound of the bullet rang and echoed through the vacant forest, blood quickly seeped through Lorne’s jacket, the wound Number’s had drilled was close to his chest, but not fatal. There would be time. Time to save, time to spend, time to kill. Numbers charged, a bull in full attack mode, what could be almost described as steam coming out of his gears turning. The tree was his. Lorne was his. Lorne would die, he would fall, and at his hands. Numbers would have it no other way, and Wrench knew this to be the case. Wrench lunged forward, hands trying to reach his shoulder, trying to grab him before ---Before he made a dull move. The rusty ashes flew from the snow, jaws of a metal prison snapping them around Number’s leg. Thus it began, starting with the blood pouring from his wounds, and the scream of pain that leapt from Number’s lungs. The bear trap that cursed their plague of death and remorse. Wrench fell next to him, assessing the situation. Numbers yelled again, Wrench could not hear this and thanked whatever was left of his faith he couldn’t hear it. Concern for his partner resulted in seconds of reaction time for Malvo. Alive still, he pulled his gun to meet Wrench’s face, but due to lack of arm strength from the earlier bullet wound, it fell, and penetrated Wrench’s arm instead. With a curse, he fired again. This time around, he was careless, and it wouldn’t matter where the bullets landed, as long as they went through the bodies of his shadows. Below the neck, in the leg, two in the chest. Wrench was a bloody mess. His partner had taken the rounds too, laying in the snow, withered in agony.   
The tangled and hopeless monster escaped from the clasp of Wrench and Numbers with ease, running to nowhere in the woods.   
Wrench moved forward to the best of his ability, the last of his strength used to prop himself up on the cold bark of a tree, in front of Numbers. Sticky, dark blood covered his hands, his pants, and the snow.   
The snow they had tried so hard to make white. The sins they had never accounted for. Their blood spilling, pooling into the white and innocent.   
It was then Wrench realized, in his last moments, what they had done. What crimes and feats they had committed. True darkness, true knowing of the deep abyss called death. Was this his punishment? His hell?   
Number’s breath was speeding, puffs of white smoky hair leaving his mouth with each huff. Leg entangled in the jaws of a bear trap’s flesh eating teeth. Shock set in, pain was irrelevant in Number’s mind. He had no regrets of his past, like Wrench. He lived and he loved. He conquered and fell. His revenge was for naught, an empty and useless feeling. Anger and pain of what had felt all his life. Now the pair of hit men was unable to move. Death closing in on of what they had torched greatness.  
There were things he wanted to say, he wanted to speak to Numbers. Wrench wanted to tell him about the first day they met, how they fell deeply into affections and love for each other. Adoration and trust, placed in the hands of no other human. The way Numbers made him feel, and how their love would be lost but it didn’t matter. It would never be an issue that their love was going to be astray, because though they were dying, Wrench would love Numbers for many more years to come. His hand let go of any grasp it had left, the darkness started to take him away, but he held on to it, gritting his teeth with tears swelling in his eyes. Number’s eyes were narrowed in a squint, the image of Wrench fresh in his brain. The image of a younger Wrench, when they had been acquainted and Numbers simply had to have him. For all the inconsistent, idiot and irresponsible moves he had pulled with this man, Wrench always forgave. He was sorry. He regretted this. He had lit a fire that could not be put out, and now his closest and most loved person would suffer for it. That was their love. He wanted to tell Wrench everything about their past and what would never be, but that would break their rule of never looking into the past. If you look into the past, Numbers recalled Wrench’s words again, you will never see the future. Except now, there was no future. They would both die, unhappy and unknowing of their mistakes and misfortunes. Whatever was left of his mind, whatever was left of the conciseness Numbers clasped so tightly onto, the dull aches leaving his brain and the hellish nightmare he awaited- words were left. Last ones, that was.   
“I respect you.” Is what Numbers signed, letting his hands drop into the snow, bitter cold wrapping his emotions and lifeless body into what happens after.   
Wrench’s tears froze on his face, a smile trying to make its way into his soul- but never making it- for he had last words of his own.   
His hands leaping into the air, a gesture so simple and small- Numbers had to know, he had to know the one last thing, the most vital and important thing.  
“I will fi-. “Was as far as Wrench had gotten in his last words, spoken or not. His hands slowly fell into his lap, head slumped to the side, winter and stinging cold inhaled one last time of his dead body, brain shut down and escaped of the horrors of what he had done. It was not a peaceful death. Not like he had imagined, as a young man. Death was not an uncommon thought for them. However now, Numbers would never know- never know that Wrench simply wanted to say that, no matter what was going to happen next, Wrench would find him. He would find Numbers again. 

 

The sunset came and went Wrench and Numbers lay still in their snowy grave. For Malvo, who was stuck in the rut and branches of an evil tree, he lay wasted. The cold had sucked whatever evil was left of the inhuman, and he lay in death, in the woods, where a year ago- the very same happened to one of his victims.


End file.
